


Our Beating Hearts

by SherlockedCumbercookie (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Cute Rosamund Mary "Rosie" Watson, Dystopian, Eventual Smut, F/M, Feeding, Fluff and Angst, Minor Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Rebellion, Rebels, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Slavery, Sherlock and John are just friends, Sherlolly - Freeform, Slavery, Vampire Bites, Vampires, a little out of character, eventual Sherlolly, molly is sweet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:13:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25370695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/SherlockedCumbercookie
Summary: Sherlock is the sex slave of Jim Moriaty, the most powerful vampire in all of England. Sherlock is abused daily and the only reprieve from his torture his his friendship with another slave, a sweet, beautiful girl named Molly. Together, Sherlock and Molly join together to free themselves from the castle of Moriaty and escape to the rebels, where Sherlock's brother, Mycroft leads an army of thousands, including John Watson and his wife, Mary.
Relationships: Mary Morstan/John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14





	Our Beating Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> I don't usually do sherlolly but I wanted to do it :)
> 
> The characters might be a little OOC. Especially Mary. She's more of an original character than herself lol. Sherlock's a little more affectionate...

John stares into the orange and red flames of the fire, his hands twisting in his lap. So much has happened these last few days. One moment he was a slave in a vampire’s castle, trying to save his young wife and daughter from becoming lunch, and the next moment he was sitting in the midst of a rebel camp, free and unharmed with his family. Beside him, sits his wife, Mary. Mary, her blue eyes bloodshot, is clutching their child, Rosie, to her chest. John puts an arm around her. “We’re safe now,” he whispers. 

Mary’s eyes dart wildly about. “No… we’re not safe, John,” she says, her voice trembling. “We’ll never be safe.” She buries her nose in Rosie’s soft baby hair and leans into John’s touch. “They will find us, John.” 

“No, they won’t. I won’t let them,” John replies. He feels horrible lying to Mary.

Of course the vampires will find them. 

A man approaches the small family. He is dressed in a flexible outfit of dark leather and is tall, with steely eyes. “John Watson, I presume,” he says in an elegant British accent. Gracefully, he settles himself on a log across from the couple. “I would like to discuss with you and your wife the next steps to finding freedom.” He glances at Mary and sees Rosie stirring, her tiny hands waving in the air. “I trust the child is all right?” he asks, brow wrinkling with concern. 

“Yes,” Mary replies softly, clutching Rosie tighter. 

“That is good.” The man nods and then continues. “My name is Mycroft and I am the leader of the Resistance. We are few but strong and prepared to take a stand. Many days away, we have a place where the refugees can live in peace and security. The vampires have yet to find it and I am sure they never will. I wish to send your wife and child to that place. It would be for the best.” 

John frowns and grips Mary’s hand. “I’m not leaving them,” he says firmly.

Mycroft nods in understanding. “Yes, I know, John, but we need you here. To fight. You were a soldier during the wars, am I right?” 

“Yes,” John says and as he speaks, his leg throbs with pain, reminding him of his days as a soldier. “I just…. I don’t want anything to happen to them and I am not there to help them. I have come close to losing them many times in the past and I never want to repeat that again.” 

x

Mary's hand tightens in his grasp. “I don’t want to leave him either. We’re a family and we are going to stay together. I am stronger than I look, sir, and I can fight. I will fight. If I want to see a safe future for my Rosie, I must stand up against those tyrants.” 

Mycroft looks much moved by their words. He blinks rapidly and clears his throat, then nods curtly. “Well… it is your choice. I cannot offer you much protection. We are constantly on the move, always fighting. You will probably never be safe. But, I understand why you feel the need to stay together and fight. Family is important above all else.” Then, he makes an odd choking noise and looks away, his shoulders hitching as if he is struggling to hold back sobs. 

“Are you alright, sir?” John asks nervously.

The other man waves a hand. “Yes… I’m fine. It’s just that… my brother. My younger brother, to be exact, was taken by the vampires four years ago and I wish every day that I could have saved him.” Mycroft curls his hands into fists. “It is for people like my brother, innocent and abused slaves, that I fight. If I can make just a small difference, it will make the world much better for the young ones in the future.” 

**********************

Four years.

Four long, awful years.

He knows this because every day, his master reminds him. 

It has been months since the sun has last kissed his pale skin and he yearns for the light, feeling sick of the damp, dimly lit passages of the castle. Of course, however, his master will not allow such a luxury. Vampires do operate better in the dark.  
He’s lying on his master’s bed, naked, with wrists and ankles tied. One of the guards told him that his master would be in soon but Sherlock has been waiting for over an hour and he’s starting to get uncomfortable. He draws in a deep, shuddering breath, then winces as the fresh bite mark on his neck throbs. “Bored,” he says softly to himself. And then, gathering more courage, he repeats it. “Bored!” This time, he hears a definite echo as his voice bounces off the towering arches of the roof above him. “B-O-R-E-D,” he spells out.

The door creaks on its ancient, rusty hinges, and swings open, revealing James Moriaty, the emperor of the vampires and a hulking beast compared to the rest of his species. Moriaty’s face, a sickening white, is illuminated by the glow of the flickering flames in the fireplace and Sherlock can tell that his master is not in a good mood. Noiselessly, Moriaty glides across the floor and stands next to the bed. “How is my pet?” he asks in a low voice, his mouth parted just enough so that Sherlock can see his fangs, stained with blood. 

“I am well, Master,” Sherlock whispers, hating the taste of those words upon his tongue. “Are you well?” 

Moriaty lays a bony hand on the concave of Sherlock’s stomach. “I will be… after I get to spend some time with you, pet.” Leaning down, he kisses Sherlock, nipping at the boy’s bruised lips. “How I despise council meetings. They take so long and are very unnecessary,” he rattles on as he sits down on the bed next to Sherlock. “Boring, I think, would be a good description of them, don’t you think?” His hand travels up Sherlock’s torso, pausing briefly to toy with Sherlock’s pierced nipples, and then finally resting on his neck, stroking the bite mark from his last feeding. “Mmmm… I do desire more of your blood, pet. It’s so fresh and sweet-just like the pet you are.” 

Sherlock shivers as Moriarty’s fangs graze the skin on his neck. “P-Please… master, it’s not time for another feeding, is it?” he asks with a whine. 

“Tut, tut,” Moriarty says. “Don’t complain, pet. I am the one who decides when it is time for a feeding-not you.” He wraps his strong arms around Sherlock’s naked body and pulls the boy close, his cold lips brushing Sherlock’s ears. “You’ve been such a good pet this week that I won’t take so much blood.” 

“Thank you, Master,” Sherlock murmurs, closing his eyes and steeling for the bite. He has been bitten many times but he is still not used to the pain and the shock of having his blood sucked out of him. 

“Such a pretty, good pet,” Moriarty whispers, sinking his fangs into the soft flesh of Sherlock’s mouth. Beneath him, he feels his slave tremble and a shiver of delight shoots up his spine. He loves how helpless, how utterly beautiful his pet is. “That’s a good boy,” he murmurs between gulps. He grabs Sherlock by the shoulders and ruts against him, moaning as he swallows the thick, sweet, warm blood. Sherlock jerks spasmodically but doesn’t fight, being too weak to do so. When at last he has drunk his fill, Moriarty withdraws his fangs and heals the bite wound with a touch. Usually, he would have fed until his slave was unconscious but he does want to reward his pet for behaving so well. 

Sherlock gasps when he feels his master stop sucking and heal the wound. The air smells of his blood and sweat. His stomach turns over and he holds back bile. “M-Master…” he begins, then groans when his master crushes his lips under an onslaught of kisses. Every time this man touches him, he feels repulsed. Every day, he clings to hope that he will one day be free of this monster. How he longs to plunge a dagger into the heart of his rapist and see his blood spilled out on the floor! But, for now, he can only dream of revenge. 

A knock sounds at the door and Moriarty jerks up, wiping blood from his lips. “What?” he growls. “I’m busy. I thought I asked not to be bothered. No, I didn’t ask. I demanded.” 

The door opens and a young slave woman comes in, her eyes wide with fear. She curtsies, nearly keeling over. 

“M-Master… t-there is news from the battlefield,” she whispers, trembling underneath the glare of the powerful vampire. “I’m sorry… I know we weren’t supposed to bother you but this news is important. General Moran has returned from the front and wishes to speak with you.” 

Moriarty’s features soften and he climbs off the bed, adjusting the tails of his coat. “Well… in that case, I shan’t suck you. Clean up my pet and take him to the loo to do his business.” With a dismissive wave, Moriarty strides out of the room, muttering under his breath. 

The slave girl turns her brown eyes on Sherlock. “Oh,” she says.

Sherlock has seen this girl before. She works as a messenger, taking messages to the important nobles who reside in Moriarty’s mansion. He remembers that her name is Molly and she is as timid as a mouse, but very kind. He offers her a crooked smile, knowing that he must look a sight, covered in blood. 

She does not return the smile but walks over to stand beside the bed. “Where’s the key to these chains?” she asks, touching the metal links around Sherlock’s wrists. 

“On the dresser over there,” Sherlock says, gesturing with his head. 

Molly grabs the key and unlocks Sherlock’s shackles. She bunches them in her hand, then lets them fall to the ground. “That’s better,” she says softly. “Can you sit up?” She tries to keep her eyes averted but her gaze keeps wandering to Sherlock’s naked body. “I-I should probably get you something to wear…” Looking around the room, she spots a dressing gown flung over an armchair and picks it up. “I hope the master won’t be upset with me if I give this to you but…” Gently, she helps ease his arms into the sleeves of the gown. 

With Molly’s help, Sherlock manages to sit up. Blood rushes from his head, causing him to become momentarily dizzy. “Thank you,” he whispers weakly, leaning heavily on her arms. 

Molly doesn’t reply. She brushes his forehead with her fingertips. “You feel warm,” she remarks. “Feverish. What he’s doing to you… it’s not good for you.” 

Sherlock laughs bitterly. “Do you think I have a choice?” Then, when he sees the tears sparkling in Molly’s eyes, he feels bad, but doesn’t apologize. Grasping Molly’s hand to gain better balance, he staggers to his feet and sways unsteadily for a few moments. “Oh god,” he whispers, pressing his palm to his forehead. His head is pounding ferociously. 

“We’ve got to get you cleaned up. I’ll try to find some painkillers.” Molly takes his arm and helps him to the bathroom. Moriaty has allowed them to use the bathroom previously and Molly knows Sherlock is much too weak to go down the stairs to the slaves’ bathrooms. While Sherlock sits on the floor, Molly runs a bath, making sure that the water is just the right temperature. 

“Molly… What happened to your family?” Sherlock says suddenly, breaking the awkward silence between them. 

Molly jerked, splashing water everywhere. “Sherlock… why are you asking me this?”

“Because… I want to know.” 

Molly closes her eyes, a fresh wave of pain washing over her. “My mother… and my father… they were killed before my eyes. All the family I had are now dead.” Her voice was flat, emotionless. She hides her face so that Sherlock cannot see the tears streaming down her cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock says quietly. He has not been too prone to emotio but he knows the pain of losing someone he loves all too well.. “My parents are dead too.” 

“This is a world full of orphans,” Molly says sadly. “I-I can hardly remember my parents… I was so young when they were killed. But what I do remember is the look of horror on their faces when they were killed.” She draws in a shuddering breath and turns to Sherlock, struggling to maintain her composure. “Bath’s run. Here, let me help you.” Then, as her fingers brush his naked skin, she recoils. “Oh… um, I’m sorry,” she stutters, flushing bright red. 

He looks down at her and smiles weakly. “You’re fine.” He doesn’t tell her that he actually likes the feeling of her touch. She is so gentle. He lets the dressing gown slip from his shoulders and climbs into the bath, immediately immersing his body in the soapy water. Instantly, the water turns a dirty red color from the blood. Sherlock grimaces as he sloshes water and soap over his wounds. “My parents were named Violet and Siger. We lived, mostly unaffected by the vampires, in a small town just north of London. My father thought it was safe there… but he was wrong.” Sherlock curls his hands into fists. “Molly… .this has to stop. All this killing and all this pain! I feel… so helpless. I am being held a captive to a psychopath whilst my brother is fighting with the rebels, trying to secure our freedom. I need to get free. I need to help!” 

Molly’s eyes widen. “Are you speaking of escaping?” she whispers. 

Sherlock looks into her eyes. “Yes. And you should come with me.” 

Molly puts a hand to her mouth. “But…. but it’s too dangerous! They will come after us! They will hunt us down and kill us. Sherlock, no one has ever escaped the vampires-alive, that is. I… I don’t want to die like my parents did, Sherlock.” She shivers and wraps her arms around her upper body, looking very small and vulnerable when she does so. "What is there for me out there? I either die here or die out there, alone in the wilderness." 

“Molly… we have to take a chance. I would rather die fighting than die knowing I did nothing. Wouldn’t you?” 

Molly brushed her hair from her eyes and bit her lip. “Yes but…” 

“Come with me, Molly. We can do this… if we do it together.”


End file.
